


Know the water's sweet

by Romennim



Series: Valar's Blessing [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst, Conversations, M/M, POV Male Character, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 22:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1705559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romennim/pseuds/Romennim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two conversations Bilbo has, before accepting Thranduil's offer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gandalf

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [hobbitstory big bang](http://hobbitstory.livejournal.com) at LJ
> 
> Thanks to my beta, [morena-evensong](http://morena-evensong.livejournal.com), for her quick and fantastic work.
> 
> Set during [There's an endless road to be discovered](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1703978).

He found Gandalf at the edge of the camp, calmly sitting on a rock and smoking, as if he had no care in the world and was just enjoying the crisp air of the night. Bilbo wasn't fooled. H knew how much work still needed to be done in the camp and how vital the wizard's work was for the wounded: Gandalf wasn't a man to waste time like this if he was needed.

So the wizard was there for him. Bilbo felt a choking relief and gratitude towards the man. He stopped beside him, tired and sore, and uncertain if he should try to sit or not. His body was screaming at him now that his stroll with Thranduil was over and he was finally paying attention. Bilbo feared it was going to betray him if he asked more of it.

He focused his attention on Gandalf, but the wizard kept on smoking and gazing ahead, letting silence fill the air between them.

"Gandalf," Bilbo began, with much more confidence than his exhausted body felt, and stopped. His gaze strayed for a moment to the valley below him, but the moon's rays weren't strong enough to reveal the horrors left behind from the battle – fortunately. The death and destruction still spread over the earth was a sharp reminder of why he was here trying to talk to his friend, but it wasn't enough to help him find the words. His mind remained blank.

Gandalf seemed to take pity on him.

"Did the Elf-King speak to you?" he asked softly, almost carefully.

Bilbo nodded.

“What have you decided then?”

“I...” _I want to say yes_ , Bilbo's heart shouted, but how could Bilbo do that?

He tried again.

“Gandalf, I... I can't decide.” he said, voice almost breaking.

Gandalf's eyes regarded him softly, almost tenderly.

“You can, Bilbo.”

Those words catapulted Bilbo back into the past, into a warm summer evening, roughly six months ago, when his lovely home had been invaded by a company of boisterous dwarves and his life had been a few hours from being altered completely. An evening where the wizard had ultimately asked him to trust him, to follow him because his life had become too dull and insignificant. Gandalf hadn't denied the dangers, but his words and his calm had said those same words, that Bilbo could do it.

And once again Bilbo felt he could trust those words, even if this time the decision wasn't any easier than six months ago, even if so much had happened.


	2. Balin and Dáin

Bilbo reached the tents, his talk with Gandalf still circling in his thoughts. The wizard had mostly repeated what the Elf-King had told him, and the Hobbit realized almost in dismay that Gandalf hadn't given him anymore reassurances than Thranduil had. The nagging suspicion that both of them had not been entirely truthful about the dangers of the ritual sat heavily in his mind, but he was trying to accept it: there was a point where he had to trust the Elf-King knew what he was doing and respect that it was the elf's choice. Bilbo had given Thranduil more than one occasion to change his mind. He couldn't have done more than that.

Gandalf had subtly let him know, in that implicit and maddening way of his, that he approved of Thranduil's offer and that Bilbo should accept it. The hobbit was finding it harder to refuse with every minute that passed, but he had still a couple of people to talk to, before he could give in in good conscience.

When he was finally in front of the tent he was looking for, he took a deep breath and entered. The smell of dirt and blood and medicinal herbs instantly invaded his nose and mouth, and made him cough.

“Bilbo!” a voice exclaimed, and then suddenly a pair of strong hands was grasping his elbows and guiding him. After a few steps, he was gently pulled down and he found himself seated on a cot, Óin looking down at him, a frown on his face.

“Did you let someone look at you? You are a fright.”

Bilbo couldn't help a chuckle.

“Thanks, Óin.”

“I'm serious, lad.” he said, while his hands grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up. Bilbo let him. He was too exhausted to care and could admit that the thought of someone taking care of him for a few moments, even while scolding him, was nice.

Óin's hiss made him glance down. His chest was totally covered in bruises, dark and ugly. He honestly hadn't noticed.

“Lie down,” the dwarf ordered.

Bilbo shook his head.

“Not now, Óin. I need to talk to Fíli.”

Óin snorted.

“You can lie down, then. The lad is out for the count, as you can see.” he said, pointing somewhere behind Bilbo. The hobbit turned around and in fact there was Fíli in a cot, sleeping beside his brother, both of them covered in bandages and thick furs.

“Are they okay?”

Someone, he didn't remember exactly who, had told him the brothers had survived the battle, but in the aftermath of discovering how lethal Thorin's wounds were, he had honestly forgotten to inquire further on them. Shame and guilt suddenly overflew him. He should have checked, damn-it. How could he have forgotten them?

“A few broken ribs for both of them and a nasty leg wound for Fíli. Kíli received a strong blow to the head, but he should be fine. I gave them a few herbs to help them sleep. They are worried sick about Thorin, but they need the rest.”

Bilbo sighed in dismay.

“But I need to talk to Fíli urgently!”

“I'm sorry, lad, but I don't think he will wake up before tomorrow afternoon.”

Damn! Bilbo had intended to talk to Fíli about Thranduil's offer: despite what the elf had said, Bilbo needed the approval of at least one member of Thorin's family. It didn't matter how tempting the elf's plan was, he needed another opinion. One, possibly, of someone who knew Thorin well. Dwalin had come to mind, but wasn't this kind of decision something a family member should have a say in? So he had thought of Fíli and Kíli. Who were out for the count.

Fantastic.

What should he do? Thorin didn't have much time left, and Thranduil's request for a swift decision hadn't been made only because it had been from an elf, Bilbo knew. Thorin didn't have the time to wait much longer.

“Maybe Balin or Dáin can help you.” Óin's advice broke him out of his reverie.

Bilbo looked up in surprise, and a touch of relief. They weren't the right people to talk to, but Balin was Thorin's cousin and one of his oldest friends, and sometimes advisor. He could do.

“I'll tell someone to fetch them, then you're letting me see to your chest, is that clear?”

Bilbo was a wise hobbit, and every hobbit knew when he had won and when to let things lie. He nodded to Óin, who didn't waste a moment and went out of the tent, shouting to someone.

***

Óin was finishing tending to his wounds, when a dwarf Bilbo had never seen before lifted the tent flap and let Balin inside before stepping inside himself.

Bilbo blinked once or twice, trying to push away the heaviness that had set into his eyes and into his body: Óin had worked on him in silence and the warm air of the tent had slowly pushed him into a state of sleepy daze. But he still needed his wits about him. The day wasn't going to end yet. Nor soon.

He watched the dwarf accompanying Balin a bit warily, though it took him too long to realize who it was. The symbol of the House of Durin embroidered in gold on his tunic was, in fact, a dead giveaway. He flushed and tried to stand, but Óin's hands on his shoulders stopped him.

He was opening his mouth to say something quite pointed to the healer, when Dáin waved his hand.

“Please remain seated, Master Baggins.”

His voice was deep as any dwarf's, but the undercurrent of power was evident to Bilbo despite his exhaustion: clearly Dáin was a dwarf used to leading and commanding respect.

Dáin was a king of course, Bilbo realized with a sharp tug at his heart, so he was used to the position. His demeanor, sure and proud, oozed kingship, and Bilbo desperately hoped Thorin would get the chance to grow into that role so beautifully too.

“Are you okay, Bilbo?”

Balin's voice interrupted his thoughts, and Bilbo tried to focus on his friend and the King of the Iron Hills. He was going to try and convince them to do something unprecedented and if he was going to succeed, he needed to prove to them the idea was sound. He couldn't do that if he looked like he was too tired to reason.

“I am, Balin. I'm only tired.”

“That is to be expected. It has been a long day.”

Understatement of the century, Bilbo thought – it seemed a week ago that he had donned his magic ring and run into battle.

“And it's not over yet.” he replied, an edge of desperation coloring his voice.

His words were met with compassion on Balin's face, and an almost familiar expression on Dáin's. It took him a moment to place it: kind understanding. Bilbo recognized it because Thorin had worn it several times during their journey, once the ice between them had melted.

Suddenly looking at Dáin was too much: too similar was the line of his jaw, shared by his cousin. Too much were his eyes, kind and possessing the same shade of deep brown. Too much was his overall visage, his body and his stance; too many were the similarities between the cousins and not enough the differences. Balin and Dwalin were Thorin's cousins too, but they didn't share so many traits with their king. Dáin, strong and hale, was a painful sight.

Balin's voice, once again, brought him back.

“Bilbo, is he...?”

There was no need to specify, but the urgent tone in the dwarf's tone made Bilbo glance up and blink at the wide-eyed stare his friend was giving him.

Again, it took him a moment too long to catch up.

“No!” he exclaimed hastily. “Thranduil's spell...” He found himself floundering for words, so he settled for the simplest truth. “Not yet,” he whispered out brokenly.

Óin's hands squeezed him in support and Bilbo was grateful for it. Despite the heartache and hardships that had befallen him since leaving Bag End behind, he wouldn't have traded his new friends for anything.

Balin shut his eyes for a moment and breathed, as if calming himself.

“I was called away to help with a few things and I would have never forgiven myself if... if he had died alone in that tent,” the dwarf said softly, as if talking to himself.

Bilbo could understand, and offered the only bit of reassurance he could.

“Thranduil said the spell will keep for a few hours.”

At that, Balin shot him an inquisitive look and Dáin, who had so far remained a respectful distance away, stepped forward to Balin's side. Bilbo tried not to feel intimidated by having them towering over him, but he didn't think he could bear this conversation standing, so he stayed put.

“What did the Elf-King wanted to speak to you about?”

The question came from Balin, while the king kept his silence. Bilbo found it odd, but he didn't know the dwarf and, after all, wasn't Balin the cousin who had spent all his life at Thorin's side?

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts and his strength.

A few minutes later, with a silence so thick a hobbit could cut it with a knife, Bilbo reflected that Thranduil's offer didn't seem any less crazy to him, even after having explained it. He found, though, that he had a lot less patience with his friends than Thranduil, a relative stranger and not bound by consideration to Bilbo's sentiments, had had for him. He could now appreciate even more the infamous elven patience.

He obviously had nothing resembling it, because after a few more moments of silence, he could take it no more and blurted out, uncaring of his friends and the Dwarf-King. “Well?”

“Well, that sounds insane!” a voice exclaimed from behind Bilbo and the hobbit almost jumped in surprise. During his narration, Óin's hands had left him and he had been so busy with his tale and looking at the dwarves in front of him that he had totally forgotten the one behind him.

He was on the verge of turning around to look at the healer, when Balin's quiet voice stopped him.

“Yes, it is,” he confirmed. “But...”

“But what?” Bilbo prodded him. He darted a look at Dáin, but the dwarf seemed content to let them hash it out without his opinion. Bilbo didn't know him, but he didn't know either how someone could keep his silence when hearing things such as these. And Dáin was a king! Weren't kings unable not to have an opinion and not share it?

“Bilbo, you said both Thranduil and Gandalf think it will work.” Balin stated, making Bilbo's impatience grow.

“Yes.” he almost snapped.

“Then what do you want to talk about?”

There was a note of bafflement in Balin's voice, but it was nothing to the shocked surprise Bilbo suddenly felt overwhelming him.

“I... I... Balin! I can't be the only one to decide!” he exclaimed at last.

If possible, Balin's expression became even more confused.

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Bilbo chocked out. “Because I'm not Thorin's family, Balin! How could I decide something like this for a person who until a few hours ago felt I had wronged them so fundamentally that they banished me from their sight?”

Balin's kind and compassionate gaze was unbearable and Bilbo looked down at the hands in his lap which, Bilbo could now see, were trembling. Apparently Thorin's apology had not really convinced him. Not yet, at least.

A warm squeeze on his shoulder made him glance up, to Balin leaning towards him.

“He was not himself, lad.”

Tears prickled his eyes, but Bilbo pushed them back. He cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump there. Yavanna, he was an emotional mess.

“You can't know that.”

“He apologized,” Balin's kind voice rationally pointed out.

“He's at Death's door, Balin!” Bilbo almost shouted out.

“That is not fair, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo looked up in surprise at the new voice and met Dáin's steady gaze. A bit of shame began curling in his gut, but he couldn't retract what he'd said. It was true.

“I spoke to Thorin myself, before you were brought to him, and his urgency to speak to you, the deep regret and shame he felt for his actions were genuine.”

It was hard to deny those words, because Bilbo wanted with all his heart to believe the dwarf was right, but he was too tired to argue, and they were wasting time. He wasn't there to discuss if Thorin had really forgiven him, or how sane he had been when he had banished him. He was here because he needed to make a decision.

“That doesn't matter right now.”

“I don't agree, Master Baggins,” Dáin pointed out. “If you feel you can't make a decision because of that, you have to understand Thorin had been sincere when he had asked your forgiveness.”

“I can't make the decision, because I have no right to! I have no right to Thorin, to make decisions for him!” he snapped, uncaring of how disrespectful he was being to a king. Thorin and Thranduil had dealt with it. Dáin could too, Bilbo thought mutinously.

It was Dáin's turn this time to give him a baffled look.

“You are his One, Master Baggins. Who else should decide?”

“Oh for... for... for the love of all the Valar!” Bilbo exclaimed, once the shock had slightly worn off. He was beginning to think Thranduil wasn't the only one to have taken leave of his senses.

He got up, the sheer frustration running in his body making him restless, and sidestepped Balin and Dáin. Moving was agonizing: acute pain traveled up his leg and his ribs ached. He gritted his teeth and went on, nearing Fíli and Kíli's cot. He gazed down at them fondly and touched Fíli's cheek. He was cool to the touch and Bilbo sighed in relief. No fever. Good. Kíli was cool too, fortunately.

With a deep breath, he turned around to find the three dwarves watching him, clearly waiting for him to calm down. He was grateful for their tact, even if he was still on the verge of losing it completely.

It took him a moment to gather his thoughts and decide what he wanted to say.

“You can't ask me to believe that. Not after the past two weeks.”

Dáin had a slightly confused expression, but he could see Óin and Balin had understood what he meant. Two weeks. It had taken that long for Thorin to change after Smaug had died and to banish him. It had taken two weeks to destroy what he and Thorin had built in six months. Two hours and an apology at Death's door weren't going to change Bilbo's mind.

The hobbit could see his two friends realized it too as they lowered their gazes. Dáin, though, was another matter.

“I obviously don't know what happened, Master Baggins. I only arrived in the heat of the battle. But, even if Thorin and I hadn't spent much time together these past years, I know my cousin. I _know_ him. And I can tell you he was sincere when he told me he had to make amends to you. He was also sincere when he told me you are his One. And he was in his right mind when he asked me to respect your words as if they were his own.” He paused and looked right at Bilbo, to allow his words to sink in. Bilbo was too frozen to respond. “So, as far as I'm concerned, there is no one on the whole of Arda who has more right to decide what to do to save my cousin. And since Thorin's heirs cannot voice their will, I will fight anyone who would be so bold as to presume you have not the right to decide.”

Well, what could Bilbo say in face of that? He could see clearly that Balin and Óin agreed with the king, and he couldn't say if it was because they recognized Dáin's authority while both Thorin and the brothers were out for the count, or if it was because they trusted his judgment. Or maybe, Bilbo thought ruefully, they simply agreed.

However it was, it seemed the decision was wholly in his hands, as Thranduil had said.

He nodded at the king and slowly made his way out of the tent.


End file.
